


At The End of the Day

by alafaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since Mycroft's been in a relationship, but he still knows how they go. And the coming conversation with Greg is making him anxious. Will their relationship survive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	At The End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the LJ community holmestice for flawedamythyst.

Mycroft restless tapped his umbrella against the floor of the car, lost in his thoughts. Beside him, Anthea paused in her typing. "Sir?" she inquired quietly.

He took a deep breath and shook his head. He didn't think he could properly describe what he was thinking or...he took another breath...feeling. 

Anthea chuckled. "The Detective Inspector. Would you like to know what he's doing?"

"No." Yes. Mycroft closed his eyes and frowned. How was it that one man could so thoroughly disrupt the orderly sense of Mycroft's life and emotions?

Anthea, of course, had seen through the lie. "He's pacing in his living room, muttering to himself."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and of course she was smirking. He scowled and turned to the window. After a moment, he asked, "Pacing?"

"Seems very agitated, Sir," Anthea said. "The lip reading software indicates that he is talking about you."

Mycroft's stomach turned into knots. They'd been dating (for lack of a better term and Mycroft silently cursed the English language which could provide half a dozen words to describe one emotion but could not give him a better word for the evenings and two afternoons spent in Greg's company) for exactly three months now. It was the first relationship Mycroft had considered in quite a few years (a subject of much gossip in his office despite Anthea's attempts to hush it up), but it brought up the same anxieties as the past ones had.

At three months, Mycroft or Greg should be making some indication of wanting to...advance their relationship. Mycroft knew that well--a lesson learned hard in university and then later when surveillance revealed the same pattern time and again. For those who expressed their affection sexually, three months was a stretch to wait. Mycroft had been pleased when three months had passed with no sign from Greg that he wished to have...sexual relations with Mycroft. Yet still, Mycroft became hyper aware that something was likely to happen that would bring to light the fact that Greg would want more, expected more, and Mycroft did not.

Was that what the muttering and pacing was about?

"Sir?" Anthea's voice cut like ice across Mycroft's thoughts. "We're here."

Mycroft looked out and up at Greg's flat on the third floor. Clutching the umbrella in his hand, he left the car (which left to take Anthea to Downing Street while another pulled up) and pushed the correct button. Seconds later and Greg, voice short as if he'd run to answer the buzzer, crackled from the speaker, "Mycroft? I'll be right out."

Mycroft's anxiety increased as he waited. He kept his back to the door, looking at the street and the cars and people going by. He noted at least five traffic violations that should have been caught by the police and noticed that it wasn't the safest street for a member of the police to be living on. He wondered why Greg would live here, even in a security locked building.

The door opened and Mycroft turned around. He looked Greg up and down and swallowed hard. A better cut suit, the shirt's two top buttons undone, revealing a few extra inches of skin. Weakly, Mycroft smiled. "Greg."

Greg returned the smile. "Mycroft."

Mycroft cleared his throat and gestured to the waiting car. Greg nodded and led the way. The car ride was uncomfortably silent; they'd grown very close the last months and yet now a gap grew, making it seem as though they were miles apart rather than a few inches. Or was that just inside Mycroft's head? Moments later, they were at the restaurant and Mycroft escorted Greg to the maître d'.

In no time, the waiter was setting down the main course. Greg chuckled. "Only the best for the government?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. "There are several places where, for an extra tip, they will give me faster service--I am sometimes unable to even get a single bite of my meal before I am called away for one item of business or another."

Greg bit his lip. "In a rush tonight?"

Mycroft frowned and reached out to put his hand over Greg's where it lay next to his fork. His meal was, so far, untouched. "No. I just--the food is very good here and I wanted to share it with you."

Greg nodded and turned his hand over to give Mycroft's a squeeze. It lingered for a moment, Greg's eyes almost burning as they looked at Mycroft. "Okay. Good." He soon let go of Mycroft's hand and tucked into his meal.

Mycroft picked at his, stomach turned into knots and his muscles tensing up. Greg, used to Mycroft's quiet moods, carried the conversation, knowing that even if Mycroft didn't appear to be completely paying attention, he was. The conversation continued through desert and even as they waited at the curb after for the car to pick them up. Mycroft instructed the driver to his home--their usual habit was to have a drink before parting for the night. 

Greg's hand on his thigh startled him out of his thoughts. "Hey, what's wrong? You seem...I don't know. Off, I suppose."

Mycroft smiled tightly. "I'm fine. Just...a lot on my mind."

"Nothing too bad, I hope," Greg joked. "I won't wake up tomorrow and discover that some small country has been invaded or that parliament is going to call for some kind of re-election?"

Mycroft chuckled and shook his head. "You won't. A few minor things, but nothing you have to worry about."

Greg's hand slid up Mycroft's thigh, too close to his crotch for Mycroft's comfort. "Maybe I could help distract you?"

Seconds ticked by in Mycroft's head, seconds that were just a bit too long. Greg's confidence began to waiver and he looked out of sorts. Mycroft had never been so glad when the driver pulled into his driveway. He ushered them into the home, waving away the butler who appeared, and continued into the library. He poured them each a few fingers of scotch and sat in the wing back chair that faced the couch--where Greg always sat.

Greg opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking very out of place. A few sips later, he found his courage. "Right. I think we need to talk."

Mycroft closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Yes, I think we do."

"Just--tell me, okay, if I'm completely wrong," Greg said. His leg bounced, revealing his anxiety. "We've been on a handful of dates and I really thought that maybe we were both in this for the long haul. I mean, we both made it clear that we weren't looking for something casual from the start. And all the signals you've been sending have told me that you're interested in me."

"Gregory," Mycroft started. Greg's stopped talking and he took a gulp of the scotch. Mycroft winced in sympathy and wished he hadn't caused that. "It's...of course I'm interested in you. Your stories about work and your coworkers are entertaining but not demeaning, of course. You know when to take control of the conversation and when to just sit back and enjoy time with me. I could only have dreamed of finding someone as interesting and amazing as you are to me."

Greg nodded. "All right. We've got that cleared up." He took a deep breath. "Right, I've never been shy about this, but you make me shy. Suppose I'll just have to ask--do you want to sleep with me? As in, have sex, make love, whatever phrase you use."

"I know you want to have sex with me," Mycroft replied, tactfully avoiding the question.

Greg half smiled. "Well, of course I do. You're handsome and have a mouth that I think would feel sinful wrapped around my..." He coughed and flushed hotly.

Mycroft sighed. "Perhaps I should have told you sooner, Greg. I apologize. I'm...asexual. Much as I admire your mind and you are lovely to look at, I do not desire sex." He tried to smile, but it was weak. "Anyone would want to, I know. Just not me. Not that I don't want to spend time in your company or even kiss you or...cuddle with you. I want a relationship with you. Only without the sex."

Greg nodded. "Well, I understand. A little, at least. I mean, I've heard some of the younger officers mention it when they talk about Sherlock and I looked it up. So--you're never going to want sex with me?"

Mycroft shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Greg frowned.

"For being unable to provide you with sex since you so clearly want it. I completely understand if you'd rather not see me again. It would fine."

Greg growled. "How is it you Holmes boys understand everything that happens unless it concerns emotions and relationships?"

"It is my understanding that sex is an important part of a relationship," Mycroft said.

Greg put his drink down and got to his knees in front of Mycroft. Mycroft shifted back, unsure of what was going to happen. Greg carefully placed his hands on Mycroft's knees. "Sex is great. It feels like...well, there’s nothing to compare it to, but it's great. Not sure how important it actually is, though, when you get down to it. I married my ex-wife because she was fun in bed. Seemed like a good idea at the time, you know? Why shouldn't I marry a girl who thinks it's hot that I'm a copper and begs me to wear my uniform for a bit of role-play. But it wasn't enough for a marriage. Or a relationship, really, when you get down to it. And now that I'm older, I'm seeing how focusing on anything other than sex is better.

"I would love to have sex with you. Make you fall apart in my arms and find out what you taste like. But it's okay with me--us not having sex. Takes the pressure off and we have been enjoying this relationship without the sex. I feel closer to you than I have to anyone in ages and that includes that one little fling I had last year. I don't need sex in a relationship--might actually be better."

Greg smirked. "Besides, maybe then I won't have to worry about going more than one round now that I'm older."

Mycroft frowned and leaned back, away from Greg. "It wouldn't even be one round. I--."

Greg held up his hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. One round and I'm done for the night. Doesn't actually leave a lot of time for afters either. And as I said, I'm rather fond of the afters. Cuddling and all that."

Mycroft's thoughts were racing. This was...this was not how the world worked. Wasn't it? He put his hands over Greg's, feeling the skin toughened by years in all sorts of weather. Very different from Mycroft's own lotion softened manicured hands. It felt wonderful and Mycroft wanted to spend ages with them in his own. Knowing that it would not indicate to Greg a sexual desire felt...freeing.

"Okay there?" Greg asked softly.

Mycroft nodded. "Yes. I suppose I am."

Greg smiled. "Good. Now, you mentioned something about cuddling?"

~~~

Mycroft woke softly and squinted against the morning light streaming in from above the bed. As lovely as that window looked--a twelve inch high bit of glass that spanned the wall that had bits of coloured glass in it--it could be a minor irritation. Greg stirred next to him, snorting as his body stopped snoring. He blinked as he looked across at Mycroft. "Morning."

Mycroft smiled. "Morning." A month since the almost disastrous conversation and he still couldn't believe this was his reality--going to bed after a stressful week with Greg in his arms and waking up to the same, no pressure or worry. Just simply enjoying being home and with his partner.

"Mm, do you think we should wake that maid of yours or should we go down the street to that lovely bakery?" Greg asked.

Mycroft smiled and pulled Greg close. He settled his arm around Greg's waist and kissed him softly. "I'm rather fond of breakfast in bed."

"Sounds good," Greg agreed and tucked his head under Mycroft's chin. "Though how about we wait for a moment or two? I'm rather enjoying having you to myself right now and I think anyone coming in would just be too much."

Mycroft pulled him closer in silent admission. One month since their discussion and counting. Mycroft was fast becoming used to this, their relationship and the easy acceptance. Especially if it meant mornings like these. He smiled softly and absently drew circles onto Greg's back. Greg hummed, a happy pleased sound and relaxed further into Mycroft.

Perfect.


End file.
